


Only You

by delboyanddier



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Bondage, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Smut, gratuitous river and space metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delboyanddier/pseuds/delboyanddier
Summary: After a disappointing game, Marc knows what Lio wants: Marc and only Marc.





	Only You

After a disappointing game, Marc knows what Lio wants: Marc and only Marc. Their teammates might have a drink in their hotel room or let a scalding, twenty-minute shower rinse away the aches in their muscles and the regrets in their bones. But Marc knows that after a hard game, Lio wants someone to kiss him hard, pin his arms over his head, and fuck him into the mattress. 

And that someone is Marc. And Marc is more than happy to participate in this post-match ritual, like tonight, after their lacklustre tie with Lyon. The minute they arrived at the hotel, Lio pulled Marc into the elevator, the words _my room?_ whispered into Marc’s ear. 

Lio stands next to Marc, their shoulders brushing, their duffel bags side by side on the elevator floor. Marc looks in the mirrored wall of the lift and can’t help but think they look good together, wearing the same Barca suits.

Lio fidgets with the cuffs of his suit, a nervous tick Marc knows all too well after years alongside the best footballer in the world. Marc wants to reach out and hold the other man’s hand—because he wants to stop Lio’s nervous tick, of course. Not because his soft, small hands look like they ought to be held. At least that’s what Marc tells himself as he takes in the man beside him.

Lio looks beautiful right now. Well, actually, Lio _always_ looks beautiful, but Marc thinks he looks especially gorgeous after games, his entire body radiating with post-match exertion. Lio’s damp hair and smooth skin seem to glow, like they always do after a hot shower. His shoulders and biceps strain against his fitted suit jacket. His eyes are black holes, dark and deep in thought, swirling with flecks of light. 

He looks a little dejected, arms crossed, slumped against the wall, but Lio is still breathtaking. Still beautiful when his eyebrows are furrowed, and his forehead is carved with canyons of concentration. Marc can see him reliving each play, each shot on goal, wondering what he could have done differently to score the winner. Or assist the winner. Anything to prevent the tie. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lio is looking at the floor, so Marc wonders how Lio knew he was looking.  
“You’re beautiful.” Marc says, because it’s true, and he knows Lio likes compliments. Marc has never been one to hide what’s on his mind, anyway. “And stop overthinking everything. You did well.”

“I think I’d look better underneath you.” Lio smirks slightly, turning to Marc so they stand toe to toe. Marc notices that Lio completely ignored his other comment, but he decides not to push it.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Marc reaches out and holds the waist of the shorter man. Lio tangles his hands around Marc’s neck and leans in, so their noses brush against each other. Marc is about to close the space between them when the elevator pings and the doors slide open.

“Having fun, _chicos_?” A velvety voice booms as a tall man enters the lift. Marc drops his hands from the midfielder’s waist, but Lio doesn’t move, hands anchored around Marc’s neck.

“We were, Geri. Then you ruined the fun.” Lio finally steps away from Marc and leans against the wall. He rolls his eyes at Gerard, but they sparkle with amusement, a look reserved for best friends. A look that makes Marc cross his arms over his chest, makes his stomach twist with jealousy, however irrational and unwelcome it may be. Gerard’s blue eyes twinkle with delight, mirroring Lio’s.

“This is a public lift, Lio. _¿Qué quieres que haga?_ ” Gerard grins, annoyingly blinding and cheeky.

“Take the stairs for all I care.” There’s no real bite to Lio’s words, and there’s a playful smirk on his face.

“Ouch, Lio. Not even _mi mejor amigo_ wants my company.” Gerard clutches his chest, wiping a few nonexistent tears from his bright blue eyes when the elevator pings and the doors slide open again. 

_“Pues,_ this is my floor anyway.” To Marc’s surprise, Gerard looks at him, “Take care of Lio, yea? Make sure he’s not too hard on himself after this game. Because he will be.” The defender points an accusing finger at Lio, who laughs softly and shakes his head, and then Gerard steps into the hallway, still smirking at them when the doors shut. 

Marc lets out a long exhale and closes his eyes. God, everything about Geri is annoying: his endless teasing, his blinding smile, his breathtaking, blue eyes— 

“Why don’t you like Gerard?” 

Marc’s eyes flutter open and he wonders if Lio can read minds, because the midfielder isn’t even looking at him, instead watching the florescent floor numbers change on the wall.

“What do you mean? I like—” Marc starts, but then Lio looks at him, eyes penetrating, eyebrows raised, “Okay, maybe he bothers me a little bit. How did you kn—”

“Are you jealous?” Lio’s eyebrows furrow and he steps closer to the goalie. “Marc, it’s not like that. I’ve known him forever but we’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“If you were, that’d be okay.” Marc says around the lump in his throat, the word _anymore_ ricocheting in his mind like a misfired bullet. But it would be okay if Lio was sleeping with other people. Yes, Marc sometimes selfishly wants this gorgeous man all to himself. But he also wants Lio to pursue whoever he wants. Whoever makes him happy.

“I hope so.” Lio smiles softly, a warm hand coming up to hold Marc’s face. “But I want you. Only you.” Lio nudges Marc’s nose with his own. They share the same air as Marc gets lost in Lio’s dark eyes, as his soft lips get closer and closer. Close but not close enough.

Marc lunges forward and kisses Lio, grabbing his hips and pulling his body flush against his own. The midfielder moans into his mouth, then licks inside, insistent and hungry. He captures Marc’s lower lip between his teeth and that alone makes Marc’s cock twitch in his slacks. Marc thinks about slamming Lio’s back against the wall and thrusting his thigh between the midfielder’s legs, thinks about getting Lio off then and there in the lift, even though anyone can walk in. 

The elevators pings.

“Tenth floor. That’s us.” Lio smiles against his lips, then steps away from Marc. Sure enough, when Marc looks at the fluorescent number on the wall, it’s a green number ten. They both grab their bags, and Lio grabs Marc’s wrist and tugs him out of the lift, down the hall, and to his room. Lio pulls out his keycard, and makes the light on the door handle light up green.

The door swings open to a spacious room. There’s a king-sized bed, its white linens bright against the black Saône river outside the floor-to-ceiling window. Lio walks to the window, sets down his duffel bag, and slowly unknots his tie. Marc follows, sets down his bag next to Lio’s, and wraps his arms around the midfielder. 

They just stand there, watching the water glisten under Lyon’s city lights and the full moon. For a moment, there’s just the soft lap of waves and their breathing.

“Maybe I could have passed to Luis when—” 

“Don’t. It’s done now.” Marc sighs.

“I should have helped you and our defense more, too. Such a great captain, I am.” Lio shakes his head, and Marc can’t have him talk like this.

“Lio, look at me.” Lio turns slightly in his arms, looks up at Marc. “Let me have you right now. All of you.” Marc taps Lio’s forehead and Lio seems to understand, ducking his head slightly, embarrassed. Lio turns his gaze back to window and they slip into silence again.

“It’s beautiful.” Lio murmurs, mesmerized by the dark, silken ripples. The Saône is stunning, Marc thinks, but he is more in awe of the man in his arms: a beautiful, powerful force of nature. Marc thinks of Lio playing football, how he moves like water, slipping though defenders and midfielders, flowing the ball to a teammate. Even now, Lio is fluid, running a hand through his ripples of dark hair, and moving it back from his forehead.

“Beautiful.” Marc says, eyes on Lio’s moonlit profile, voice hoarse and velvety. Lio must hear it, because he turns around in Marc’s arms and looks at him.

“The river?” Lio asks, tilting his head to the side, eyes sparkling.

“Nope.” Marc presses a kiss to Lio’s temple, because he can, because he wants to. Lio looks at Marc for a moment, then pecks his lips, and slips out of his embrace.

“Marc, I—I want to ask you something.” Lio slowly walks over to his duffel bag and unzips it. He pulls out a long strip of black fabric that shimmers like the river outside, and fuck, Marc thinks, are those silk restraints?

“It’s actually been a while since I’ve done this.” Lio laughs, soft and nervous. He walks back over to Marc, silk restraints in hand.

“But, god, I trust you. And I want you. I really want to do this with you.” Lio’s dark eyes flicker up to Marc, “Only you.”   
Marc opens and closes his mouth, unable to respond. Lio raises his eyebrows, “But if you don’t want to—”

“Fuck, Lio, if it’s you, I’m into it.” Marc reaches out and takes the restraints from Lio’s hands, blushing slightly, embarrassed by the sheer honesty of his words.

“Oh?” Lio raises his eyebrows, playful smile on his face. He steps closer to Marc, tangles his hands behind Marc’s neck, and leans up on his tip toes. Marc grabs Lio’s waist, the silk still wrapped in one hand.

“I just. Didn't think you’d be into that.” Marc laughs out, breathy and nervous, as Lio leans in, his lips hovering a breath away from Marc’s. 

Lio pulls back, and looks at Marc for a moment, dark eyes enigmatic and penetrating. Then he smirks. 

“No one ever does.” Lio somehow maintains eye contact as he steps back from Marc. Biting his lower lip, he unbuttons his shirt he slowly saunters backwards to the bed.

“But I like it. Being under someone’s control. Being told what to do.” Lio sits on the mattress and pulls off his shirt, then his slacks, and Marc drifts to the foot of the bed. Lio is a black hole and Marc is a mere planet, unable to resist the gravity of their attraction—especially when Lio looks like this, his sculpted body shining in the lamp light, his eyes darkening. Marc crawls onto the bed and kneels in front of Lio, runs a hand up his calf, his knee, his thigh. Then the edge of Lio’s briefs, which hardly conceal the bulge straining against them.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous, Lio.” Marc groans. Lio’s fingers dance on the waistband of his briefs, and Marc feels like he might pass out. Then Lio stops. He brings a hand up to Marc’s face and lightly touches his cheek, stroking it slowly, making Marc meet Lio’s gaze.

“Marc, please.” Lio drops his hand from Marc’s face, yanks down his briefs, and throws them across the room. Lio spreads his legs wide and leans back on his forearms.

“Tell me what to do.”

All the breath leaves Marc’s lungs as he takes in Lio’s cock hardening against his hip, when he sees Lio looking up at him with those expectant, midnight eyes. 

And who is Marc to refuse the desires of Lionel Messi, the best footballer, captain, and lover in the world?

Marc leans back on his heels, and takes a deep breath. Thinks about what he wants Lio to do.

“Touch yourself.” Marc says, husky and deep. Assertive.

Lio swallows and licks his lips, eyes glued to Marc’s face. Then he lets his legs fall open wider, skims the insides of his thighs with his fingertips, before they drift towards his cock.

A whimper leaves Lio’s lips as he wraps a hand around himself, dark eyes still boring into Marc’s. Lio holds Marc’s gaze, holds Marc himself in time and space, as his fist pumps up and down, faster and faster. There’s a thump when Lio leans back against the headboard, head meeting wood. His neck is exposed and Marc can’t help but dive in and lick a stripe from Lio’s collarbone to his jaw. He works his way back down the exposed skin before he sucks a bruise on Lio’s chest, making Lio moan. Then, abruptly, Lio removes his hand from his cock. Marc unlatches his lips from the older man’s skin and blinks at Lio.

“You stopped.” 

Lio rolls his eyes at Marc and looks over at him before inching closer, his nose skimming Marc’s cheek.

“Want to come with you inside, baby.” Lio whispers against the other man’s jaw. Marc shudders at the nickname, the way it shoots straight to his cock.

“Then let me prep you.” Marc scoots away from the headboard and slides between Lio’s legs, face hovering in front of his cheeks, “If that’s okay?”

Lio looks down at him and rolls his eyes. A hand runs through Marc’s t hair and presses him down so his nose skims his round arse.

“Of course that’s okay. Just wish you’d hurry up.” Lio huffs. And with that, Marc licks a fat stripe across Lio’s fluttering hole, savoring how it makes the brunette moan.

“Like that?” Marc smiles up at Lio from below, taking a moment to knead his delicious, firm globes. 

_“Estúpido.”_ Lio mutters under his breath, then he gasps when Marc licks Lio’s hole with the flat of his tongue again. Marc mouths the rim once, then twice, and Lio is already sobbing his name, thighs pressing against either side of Marc’s face. Lio is writhing and twisting against the restraints, his serpentine back arching off the wall.

_“Cálmate,_ Lio.” Marc is pretty proud of his limited Spanish, especially the way it makes Lio lean back onto the headboard and loosen the clamp of his thighs around Marc’s head.

But then Marc is diving back down, licking into Lio’s hole, fucking his tongue inside. Lio lets out a broken scream and his thighs are framing Marc’s face again, like he and his tongue are a work of art.

Marc alternates between rimming Lio and fucking him with his tongue. He’s just about to about to finger Lio open, fingertips caressing his asscheeks, when he realizes.

“Fuck, you have lube, Lio?”

Lio whines, upset that Marc has stopped giving attention to his needy hole.

“In the duffel bag. Hurry up.”

Marc springs off the bed and tears open the duffel bag, retrieving a bottle of lube and a condom. He flies back between Lio’s legs, pushes them farther apart, and uncaps the container of lube.

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” Marc whispers, exhaling hot breath on Lio’s hole as he starts to push in a slick digit, “Finger you open, that is. You always do it yourself.” Lio shudders. His legs tense up when Marcs adds a second finger, so Marc brings his free hand to massage the back of his thigh. He thrusts inside and scissors Lio a few times, then decides to add a third digit, groaning when it slides in easily with the other two.

“Jesus, Lio. It’s like you were made to take my fingers.” Marc whispers, slightly awed, as he watches his long fingers slide in and out of Lio’s hole. Then he feels around and finds it, that bundle of nerves that makes Lio yelp and arch off the headboard. He thrusts against his prostate several more times and then Lio grabs him by the shirt collar and tugs him up from between his legs.

“Gonna come if you keep doing that.” Lio pants, chest heaving. He reaches across the mattress and grabs the silk restraints lying nearby. Lio is about to press the black silk into Marc’s palm when he stops.

“Wait.” Lio murmurs and Marc thinks he’s going to call it all off. Which would be fine. Marc doesn’t care what they do, he just wants to fuck Lio into the mattress, bondage or no bondage. He just wants to make Lio feel good.

“You’re still fully dressed.” Lio gestures to Marc’s body. Marc sighs in relief, laughter spilling from his lips. He takes off his tie, his button-down, his slacks, and finally his briefs. Lio watches intently as each article of clothing comes off. Marcs sits down beside Lio, reaches for the silk restraints, and gently guides Lio’s hands above his head and against the metal bars of the headboard. Lio is still looking at him, eyes warm and dark, sparkling slightly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Marc murmurs around the lump in his throat.

“You’re beautiful.” Lio says, slight smile on his lips. Marc flushes and focuses on tying Lio’s wrists to the headboard.

“Not as beautiful as you. Look at you, all tied up for me.” Marc admires his handiwork, the firm knots restraining Lio’s wrists above him, leaving his naked body exposed and vulnerable for him. Just for Marc. Then he picks the condom off the comforter, rips it open, and rolls it on himself. He gently nudges Lio’s thighs open. Lio shudders as he watches Marc line himself up, lifting the midfielder’s hips off the mattress. Marc almost groans at the sight of his pink head against Lio’s entrance, about to plunge inside him.

“Wait.” Marc lowers the other man’s hips back onto the mattress and Lio groans in frustration.

“What? What is it? Fuck me, already!” Lio tries to hook his legs around Marc’s waist and draw him in. Marc tries not to laugh. He forgets how impatient Lio can be, on the pitch and in bed.

“Lio, before we do this. What’s our safeword?”

Lio bites his lower lip and looks up at the ceiling, contemplating. Then a smirk creeps onto his lips.

“Madrid.” Lio smiles brilliantly, clearly proud of himself.

“Of course it is.” Marc shakes his head and tries to fight the smile on his face. He resumes where they left off, fingers digging into Lio’s hipbones as he lines himself up again. Marc watches, mesmerized, as his angry red cock sinks inside Lio, first the head, then the shaft. Finally his pelvis hits Lio’s ass, making the globes of flesh bounce slightly. The goalie groans at the sight of Lio looking right at him, biting his lip, forearms flexing against the silk restraints. Then his dark, hooded eyes flutter up to Marc.

_“Mierda._ Fucking move, Marc. Please.” Lio pants. Marc pulls out so his head only remains inside Lio. Then he slams his hips forward, making him and Lio moan. Marc admires the way his slick cock slides in and out of Lio. He plunges into the tight heat harder and harder, gripping Lio’s hips so tight that they bloom red. Still thrusting deep inside Lio, Marc slowly leans forward, covers Lio’s body with his own, and cages him in with his forearms. They’re so close that Marc can feel Lio’s breathy whimpers against his own lips. The delicious sounds rolling off Lio’s lips draw Marc closer and closer, not unlike the tight heat surrounding Marc’s cock, pulling him in deeper and deeper.

After a particularly hard thrust, Lio screams—no, sobs Marc’s name—and Marc knows he found that electric bundle of nerves. Marc slams into that spot over and over again, making Lio’s thighs and ass shake. Marc leans forward and swallows Lio’s moans, tongue licking into his mouth. The kissing becomes drinking each other’s tongues, then breathing into each other’s mouths as Marc fucks faster and faster, making the bed creak, making Lio arch against his restraints. Marc wraps a hand around Lio’s cock, strokes once, then twice and that’s all it takes for Lio to spurt white, silky ropes against his abdomen. 

Marc follows Lio over the edge soon after, snapping his hips a few more times and then he’s coming, coming with Lio’s name on his lips, collapsing on top of him. 

Breathing heavily against Lio’s chest, Marc cringes when he feels cum and sweat coating their abdomens. He should probably get a washcloth and clean them up. But his legs feel like gelatin so he strokes Lio’s sides instead, maybe for a moment, maybe for an eternity.

Slowly, Marc lifts himself up onto his forearms, sex-slick skin peeling off Lio’s. Then he sits up and starts to untie the silk restraints. Lio’s wrists are irritated so Marc massages them, his thumb circling the red skin like Earth circles the sun. Marc blushes as red as Lio’s wrists when he places a kiss on each one. He feels like he shouldn’t; surely, wrist kisses are too soft, too intimate for someone he just tied up and fucked. But when Marc chances a glance at Lio, he’s smiling, galactic eyes glimmering.

“You good?” Marc murmurs, his voice low and ragged for some reason.

“I’m good. How could I not be?” Lio whispers. He brings a hand up to Marc’s face and strokes his cheekbone. “You’re so good to me.”

Marc swallows, almost leans into Lio’s touch. Almost. 

“We should sleep, Lio. You’re going to be tired in the morning.” Marc pulls away from Lio’s hand. Lio drops his arm limply on the bed and looks at him for a moment. Really looks at Marc. Lio scrutinizes his face and body language, like Marc is a wall of players that he’s trying to find an opening in. Marc is terrified Lio will find the opening, terrified Lio might realize he wants something more than these one-night stands. All Lio has to do is shoot.

Lio starts to open his mouth, about to launch a question into the air. But then he sighs, seemingly decides against it. Lio pulls down the covers and slips under them, laying down on his side.

“Alright. Let’s sleep. You have to hold me, though. Only you can cuddle me to sleep, you know.” Lio’s eyes crinkle just above the covers. Marc can’t see the bottom half of his face, but he knows Lio must be smiling. 

So Marc slips under the covers, too. He presses his chest into Lio’s back and wraps his arms around the midfielder, hooking his chin over Lio’s shoulder. Soon enough, Lio’s breathing becomes slows, his ribcage rising and falling against Marc like a rip tide, one that will surely drown Marc. 

Long after Lio falls asleep, Marc is still awake, lost in the ebb and flow of his thoughts. He wonders if he’s the only one seeing Lio, if he’s the only one who gets to see Lio like this: tied up and screaming Marc’s name one moment, peacefully sleeping in Marc’s arms the next. The words only you replay in his mind again and again, lapping at the edges of his consciousness. A few hours later, Marc drifts to sleep to the sound of breathing as soft as the crash of waves.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this fic! Please let me know what you liked or what you think can be improved! I love hearing from you all <3


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